


Climbing Up The Walls

by philos_manthanein



Series: All-You-Can-Eat [1]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Demon Sex, Hand Jobs, Incest, M/M, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 22:42:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20897324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philos_manthanein/pseuds/philos_manthanein
Summary: Nero isn't himself when he's hungry.





	Climbing Up The Walls

**Author's Note:**

> Idk man I just really wanted to write some fucked up guro shit for my favorite incest pairing. Happy goretober everybody.

The veil is thin. Vergil can feel it slipping over him, sliding like silken webbing against his flesh. Unseen, but it’s tangible enough to his senses. In usual circumstances, the barrier between this and the otherworld is solidly well-defined. But the situation at the moment is certainly unusual.

This thinning of the ether is his son’s doing. Not on purpose, but still his fault. Nero is devouring it, and the boy doesn’t even realize what’s happening.

At first, the weakening was a boon. Vergil had found it from the other side. An intriguing abscess to pierce with Yamato and deliver Dante and himself home without wasting too much of the sword’s newly restored energy. He’d expected to slay whatever unholy leech was draining the veil before it would tear open a portal with its gorging. What he found was Nero, curled up sleeping soundly in bed, blissfully unaware of his own hunger.

It’s the _ demon _ that is starving within his son. Vergil has spent the last week or so since he returned pondering it. He theorizes it’s so voracious because it had been repressed, coupled with the fact it only comprises a fourth of Nero’s blood. Small demon, large appetite. It has gone hungry for over twenty years. Nero fed it with battle for a time, but demonic activity has waned below the threshold of his beast’s bloodlust. Now it feasts on aural effluence; the equivalent of an algae-sucking parasite. It’s as interesting as it is disgusting and dangerous.

Dante wants to make it stop. Of course he does. He doesn’t enjoy the idea of Nero accidentally unleashing literal hell one day at the breakfast table. Vergil thinks that would be delightfully entertaining. He could be content to merely observe - to see what happens and how his deceptively powerful boy deals with what he’s wrought.

But there are other ways to experiment at Nero’s expense, too. Particularly when Nero is scowling at him once again for lingering so close.

“The fuck’s your problem?” Nero grumbles next to him as he tries to shake some tar-like ichor from his hands.

They’re “cleaning up the streets”, as Dante put it. This tiny little village has an infestation. Vergil thinks these demons are an insult to their abilities. But Nero had jumped at the opportunity, no matter how trivial, to “kick some ass”. The boy’s hunger is desperate. Everywhere he goes he carves more of the veil to shreds. It won’t be long, now.

“Would you like a list?” Vergil replies, resting his hand on the hilt of Yamato. 

He hasn’t drawn it for these roach-like vermin. Nero is doing a fine job tearing them apart, first with his Red Queen and then with his bare hands. Vergil is fine with observing.

“You keep following me,” Nero sneers, “Why?”

“I want to,” Vergil replies simply and he can feel Nero’s spirit crackle with annoyance.

“You’re a real creep, you know that right?” Nero continues trying to wipe off the ichor, now rubbing his palms against his pants. 

“So I’ve been told,” Vergil says as he watches Nero struggle.

Another brave verminite skitters by and launches itself at Nero, screeing with all its might. Nero snatches it out of the air with one hand and crushes it. The head pops off like a wine cork. Its shiny black carapace crunches loudly and more tar oozes out, thick and sticky, to coat Nero’s hand more. Nero makes an “ugh” noise and tosses the bug back behind him. Then he goes back to trying to clean his hands.

Nero’s frustration mounts. His son is so tunnel-visioned on the discomfort of the filth on his hands. It’s as if he’s singularly obsessed with rubbing it away. When his pants fail to scrub it off, Nero starts digging at his palm, trying to scrape it. He grunts and curses at it, digging and digging. Vergil just stands next to him, annoyingly close, watching.

And then Nero lets out his loudest shout yet, baring his suddenly razor-sharp teeth. He chomps down on his own palm. Tearing a chunk of flesh away from just under the thumb, Nero doesn’t cry, he _ chews _. Then he makes a disgusted sound and spits his own tainted meat out onto the ground. Blood pours from the wound for a moment, but then it stitches itself back together - nice and clean.

“Yes,” Nero’s voice purrs with a distorted reverberation. “We’ll have more.”

He licks his own blood from his lips with a forked tongue. His yellow eyes glow eagerly. The rest of him stays the same, however. For now. He bites down and rips more stained flesh from his hands.

Nero has completely forgotten about his father’s presence. A welcome blessing, because Vergil finds himself transfixed by the spectacle of his son tearing the meat from his fingers and hocking it out like used chewing gum. Blood gushes out and dribbles in a wide band down Nero’s chin, rolling down his throat and staining the front of his clothing.

What Vergil notices next is the slowing of the ether’s disintegration. It had slowed minutely when Nero was squashing the pathetic demons before. But now it feels like someone pulled the emergency break on a locomotive.

Vergil realizes something then: The more Nero damages himself, the more satisfied his hunger becomes. How very twisted. He can use this.

Slowly, Vergil reaches to wrap his hands gingerly about Nero’s wrists. They are still sticky with ichor; Nero had yet to chow down them. The boy growls at him ferally. His bloodstained teeth snap at one of Vergil’s fingers, ripping off a piece of his knuckle. This he chews _ and _ swallows. A pleased noise grumbles deep in Nero’s chest.

“Our father tastes sweet,” Nero hisses and tries to take another bite.

“You will _ cease _,” Vergil commands firmly and Nero freezes.

His son blinks at him, as if he only now remembered he was not alone. Nero’s eyes, tongue, and teeth rapidly shift back to normal. Then Nero stares widely at his own hands. The tips of several of his fingers are still trying to reform around his bones. His hands start to tremble, as does his breath.

“What,” Nero’s voice is pitifully human, “What the fuck just happened?”

“You were devouring yourself,” Vergil explains matter-of-factly, which only makes Nero’s expression turn more horrified. “And you were about to consume me as well.”

Vergil releases Nero’s wrists and looks at his own finger, but the bite is already healed. Nero makes a sickened gagging noise. Vergil steps aside enough to avoid the boy’s vomit as he hurls it onto the mess of his skin and blood. So much for cleaning up the streets.

“What the fuck. What the FUCK?!” Nero agonizes once he’s finished puking.

He’s still doubled over and panting, spitting occasionally to get the taste of bile out. Vergil thinks it’s a trite dramatic, and he blames this on Nero’s human side. It wouldn’t have been as surprising if he understood anything about demons beyond the best way to render them lifeless. 

“You were hungry. Are hungry, still,” Vergil explains more. “You crave violence and in your desperation you began inflicting it upon yourself.”

“I just wanted to wash my hands,” Nero thinks out loud.

Vergil watches as Nero stares at his own hands once more. They are healthy again and mostly clean, save for a couple of patches he missed and the rings around his wrists. Nero wipes his hands over his chin and neck and stares at the tacky, drying blood. He almost lifts his fingers to his mouth but then flinches and forces himself to lower them. Nero’s skin is pallid, looking about as sick as he probably feels. Pitiful.

“I suppose I’ll tell you, since you are clearly unaware,” Vergil levels his son a stern look and Nero manages to tear his eyes away from his hands to pay attention. “You are currently engorging yourself on the veil between worlds.”

“I’m doing what now?” Nero scowls, confused and annoyed.

“The very same force that caused you to do _ that _ ,” Vergil indicates Nero’s hands, “Is currently so starved it’s eating a hole through ether itself. Your _ demon _. Darkside. Whatever you want to call it. Soon you will wear a hole through the fabric and open your own personal portal to the underworld.”

“The FUCK do you mean I’m-” Nero stops to make another retching noise, though nothing actually comes out this time. “How do I make it stop?”

Nero sounds genuinely scared, or at least deeply concerned. There is good reason for that. Vergil doubts that the tear itself would be the end of Nero’s hunger. It will likely only grow as it remains unsatisfied. Even now as they speak Vergil can feel the thinning ramp back up, since Nero is no longer fighting nor feasting. 

“So far? I’m not quite sure. I’ve noticed it slows when you’re suffering, however.” With that Vergil can’t resist a smirk, finding this all incredibly amusing. 

“Great, like I don’t suffer enough around here,” Nero whines.

“Fate does seem to have a particularly cruel sense of humor when it comes to you,” Vergil points out. 

“Fate didn’t rip my arm off, you bastard,” Nero growls. 

“Yes, I’ll be sure to _ ask _ next time I need you to lend me a hand,” Vergil sneers.

He expects that to set Nero off, and it does. His son _ roars _ and lunges at him. Vergil avoids this first strike easily, as well as the next. Frustrated, Nero whirls back and kicks. Vergil allows the boot to land against his sternum, so that he can grab the boy by the ankle. Using the kinesis of the kick, Vergil forces Nero to over-extend his leg and flip backward. Nero tries to follow through the flip and land, but he stumbles and hits his knees instead of his feet. Vergil intends to return a kick to the side of Nero’s head, but the boy ducks and then rushes forward and up, hooking Vergil’s leg over his shoulder and tackling him to the ground. They skid across the cracked pavement. Vergil rolls back to force Nero up and over him, slamming his son onto his back.

Getting back to his feet, Vergil stands just in time to see Nero’s spectral wings unfurl, glowing blue and glorious. He’s gotten better at controlling them, now using the appendages to lift himself from the sizable divot he just created in the asphalt. If they continue like this there won’t be much street left to clean. But Nero needs this fight. He’s decided to forgo weaponry in favor of his fists and kicks. Vergil decides he will humor this, if it will sate Nero’s literal appetite for destruction. 

Nero bares his demon teeth and his irises bleed gold. Now his hair gets into the act, growing longer and longer and swaying in the wind. A beautiful, deadly child. Greedy. Vergil finds himself so proud and so envious. His own hunger never held such a profound threat. 

Hands twisting and snapping into scales and claws, Nero swoops forward to attack his father again. The more he transforms, the more serious the fight becomes. And, Vergil notes as he avoids Nero’s flailing swipes, the dissolution slows again. 

Two claws catch Vergil’s neck, razor claws digging in and tearing through his skin and muscle like scythes. It hurts, but almost immediately begins to heal. Nero brings his claws to his mouth and that overly-long split tongue slurps over them. The nails cut his tongue, Vergil can see, but that doesn’t stop Nero from lathing over them like they are lollipops. 

“Our sweet father, a dessert before the feast,” Nero’s doubled voice laughs with admirable cruelty. 

Nero’s body shifts and changes more, his skin becoming thickly armored and muscles pulling apart all the seams of his clothes until they fall away. The fight has made the creature eager to play with its food. Vergil knows little of his son, but he imagines the beast hasn’t seen daylight since its first emergence. It had kicked his and Dante’s collective asses then, too, he recalls.

“I am not the prey here, parasite,” Vergil replies with a smile.

Those words only seem to tickle Nero. The glow in his eyes brightens and the grin of his mouth widens, showing the wet surfaces of all his pointed teeth.

“You do hunger for us? Will you have us? Will you _ feed _?” Nero’s voice hitches with excitement. 

Temptation. Vergil feels a warm coiling in his spine. He’s not a stranger to the hunger Nero has. Having the benefit of time on his side, Vergil has learned to quell and control those base instincts of his demonic half. (Though he also recalls how difficult that was at first; he’d been a fool to think that he could unleash it without consequence. Considering again, he wonders how Dante managed to control _ his _ as well.)

But, oh, _ temptation _. His scion calls to him with its voice and its scent, tendrils of its need pulling at his mind. It desires suffering. He is the only one who could satisfy it, without destroying it in the process. 

Nero grows impatient for an answer. The boy-demon launches at Vergil again, pushing the air behind him with his wings. Propelling forward, Nero grabs Vergil by the chest, digging his talons in. They careen off the street now and slam into the side of a building. The bricks and mortar smash apart. When they land the wooden slats of the floor buckle, threatening to send them crashing into the basement. 

Vergil can’t tell what the purpose of this building is, only that it’s some sort of vacant store. That’s all he can observe before Nero, straddling him, bends down and bites into his neck where the claws had caught him before. Nero’s teeth sink in deep and tight, then yank back and forth like a dog until the flesh tears away. He pulls back to chew upon his prize, hissing in satisfaction as he consumes. Vergil feels his blood pulsing in a hot geyser from the wound, splattering in heavy wet puddles against the floor until the artery seals back up. He feels rightfully dizzy while he waits for the regeneration. But he also feels something else, more pressing. _ Hunger _.

His transformation is not slow, but it’s not whole either. He doesn’t want to kill Nero, after all. But Vergil does allow himself to take on the traits of his devil form that will prove most useful for what he desires to do. Namely his dark scaled claws and teeth. But he also allows the eruption of spectral feathers up his arms and across his back. He lets his horns take shape through his brow and scalp. His partial trigger is aesthetically pleasing, he thinks, though it destroys his clothing in the process just as Nero’s had. But with the way things are going here, that was probably for the best.

Nero looks down at him, eyes alight with lust. He drags his claws down Vergil’s still-fleshy chest, scraping against the bone and carving his pectoral muscles. Vergil watches his son bring the meat to his mouth, Vergil’s own blood rolling down Nero’s scaly forearms while Nero suckles on his meal.

“Our father does nourish us,” Nero purrs, completely lost now in his desire. “Makes us fertile. We will have more of him.”

Vergil decides it’s time to put his son back in his place. Seizing Nero’s waist, he lets his own nails dig in. Then he forces his nails to grow more, so they latch in deeper. Nero howls with pain, his doubled voice reverberating off the wood-and-plaster walls. Vergil easily turns Nero over, slamming him onto his stomach on the floor. The wood shivers and then breaks, sending them crashing downward.

The floor is solid in the basement. Cold concrete. Vergil hears snapping and crushing noises that are not entirely pieces of the shop. When everything settles, he is laying on top of Nero’s back. There is a long spike of wood that has driven itself through them both. It’s gone through Nero’s stomach out his back and then through Vergil’s chest and spine. 

“Did you want a shishkebab by chance?” Vergil groans as he lifts himself up and off the spike.

His own voice is normal, undistorted. He still holds his mind firm, though his demonic instinct is screaming for the same freedom as Nero’s. One of them will have to make sure they both live through this feasting, and Nero is already too far gone.

“We want more,” Nero growl-moans, writhing on the spike. 

Vergil notes that Nero doesn’t try to remove it. Lifting up minutely, but then driving himself back down onto it. The wound widens and then tries to heal around it, only to be torn back apart. Nero’s blood floods out in a wide puddle underneath them. Vergil decides to leave his son impaled on it. He’s feeling generous.

He takes his long curving black nails to Nero’s back and rakes them down the blue and white armored scales there. Dragging them deep, slicing his top layer to ribbons. He can feel Nero’s muscles - _ so strong our son _\- flexing and twisting. Can see them, too, under Nero’s shining blood. Hunching over, Vergil drags his own serpent-like tongue through one of the valleys he just created. He drinks Nero and thrills feeling that muscle tissue trying to reject him, desperate to heal. He wraps his hand around the spike to keep it steady. When he reaches Nero’s shoulder he bites in and tears, earning a howl of agony.

Nero tastes sweet, too. Almost floral. Not the acrid, burnt-plastic and sulphur flavor of other demons. This is a curious thing. Do they taste different because they aren’t full demons? Vergil doesn’t recall humans tasting so pleasant. So, do he and Nero only taste like this for each other?

He chews the chunk in his mouth slowly, savoring it. Every time he bites down, Nero’s meat releases its raw juices against his tongue. Vergil finds the flavor viscerally exciting.

Underneath him Nero whines. His distorted voice cries and grunts. He arches forward and back, rubbing his body against his father. Offering more and expecting more. Impatient, hungry demon. But Vergil is growing impatient too, wanting to devour more. Nero moves against him and Vergil feels his cock unsheathing between his legs, slipping out thickly slickened and ready to breed.

Ah, so that’s it. The boy is a most delicious mate. Healthy and willing. Then this hunger is a cycle for procreation? Nero’s so ravenously tearing a portal because he needs to fuck something. Or be fucked by something. The suffering is only a drain-stop because breeding isn’t meant to be gentle.

Vergil wants to consider more of this revelation, but his body is nearly vibrating apart with the stimulation radiating from his son. Nero, too, is impatient. His spectral wings bend backward to claw into Vergil’s lower back.

“Seed us, sweet father,” Nero seethes in desperation, his scent becoming more cloying and floral.

Lifting his hips, Vergil presses the tip of his thick demonic cock into his son, driving it sudden and deep into Nero’s tight ass. Nero screams out in pain but he doesn’t struggle to get away. Instead he brings his knees up slightly and spreads his legs wider, still laying nearly-flat on his stomach to let Vergil drive into him. Vergil enjoys the tight heat working around his cock and he doesn’t waste time fucking into his son with steady and deep thrusts. Any damage he could cause will very quickly heal, so he doesn’t bother to be considerate. The loud growls of pleasure that rattle from Nero’s throat indicate the boy is of a similar mindset.

The spike, however, is annoying. It grinds against his shoulder as he ruts into Nero’s heat. Snarling, Vergil rips it through Nero’s body and chucks it off to the side. Nero gives a disappointed sort of moan. Greedy, pretty boy.

Vergil hunches over and covers the wound with his mouth. His long tongue licks way some of the blood and grime around the hole. Then he thrusts it deep inside. He works it against the rapidly closing meat and guts inside, feeling them desperately trying to heal. Vergil drinks in the blood and bites, eating into the injury and tearing away new skin the moment it forms. Below him Nero arches and cries in ecstasy while his father tongue-fucks his gaping wound.

The claws of Nero’s wings move to grasp the back of Vergil’s head. They hold tight and pull, trying to get Vergil’s teeth and tongue to dig deeper into him. Vergil growls in warning, but Nero must find the vibration inside him pleasing because he only groans and pulls more. He wants more pain, more suffering. Vergil is willing to oblige.

Vergil pulls back, taking some of Nero’s insides with him inside his mouth. Nero sobs from the loss. Ignoring the cries of his mate, Vergil enjoys slowly chewing and swallowing the meat in his mouth while he fucks his long and thick cock into Nero’s stretched-tight asshole. They’re both slick with blood and sweat. The scent of lust hangs like a warm fog in the air. 

Digging his talons just under Nero’s ribs, Vergil sits back further and pulls Nero up with him. Still fucking upward, he keeps Nero’s spine pressed tight to his chest and abdomen. They’re both up on their knees now. Nero lays his head back on Vergil’s shoulder. His crying and panting is wild. His long beautiful hair tickles down Vergil’s body, the tips nearly brushing the top of his cock as it drives in and out.

“More, more, moremoremore-” Nero begs, his hands reaching back to rest on Vergil’s armored thighs. “Fuck us, feed us, feast upon us.”

“We will,” Vergil speaks against Nero’s neck, taking in the scent of his desire and tears, his voice losing itself for just a second of distortion, “_ We will _.”

Then he bites into Nero’s neck, chewing and chewing, feeling the skin and muscle and vessels pop and bleed with every penetration of his teeth. As he eats and fucks, his claws dig further under Nero’s ribs. He can feel Nero’s heart racing, his insides fluttering against his fingertips. Vergil grabs and then pulls, yanking Nero’s skin apart and opening a large, glistening slit. Pulling, pulling. The slit stretches from the bottom of his son’s sternum to the top of his belly button. Vergil slices his claws through the soft tissues until the contents they formerly held in begin to spill out.

Nero shrieks. It makes Vergil’s ears ring. The wing-claws tear through Vergil’s back, holding on tightly. Nero’s hands go to his front, grasping at the guts and effluence spilling out of him. Even now he is capable of begging for mercy, but he doesn’t. He shivers and sobs and screams, but he also ruts backward against Vergil, grinding himself onto his father’s demon cock.

Reaching, Vergil seizes the back of one of Nero’s hands. The boy releases the handful of organs he’d been clutching. Vergil guides their hands into Nero’s body, diving deep. Vergil shoves his cock up fully and stills. It’s easy to find, massive as it is. A solid throbbing mass stretching the slick bumpy cylinder of Nero’s small intestine. He makes Nero wrap his scaly palm around it, keeping his own hand around his son’s. He makes them squeeze it together. Vergil groans and takes his teeth from Nero’s neck to speak.

“Such a brave child, mine,” His voice shifts between tones unpredictably, “Full and ready for my seed. Shall this sate us? Or will we die?”

Nero sobs and cranes his neck to nuzzle at the side of Vergil’s face. His free hand reaches to curl around the right horn protruding from Vergil’s head. Then he begins moving the hand wrapped around the sheath of his own innards, squeezing tight and stroking Vergil’s cock through it. Vergil couldn’t help his own pleasured purr as he let Nero’s clever gore-encrusted hand work him.

“Let us see,” Nero’s voice trembles, losing its doublation to sound so sweetly human, “Either way we shall be pleased.”

The tight pressure in his own spine begins to release and Vergil comes in large, satisfying waves. He keeps his cock stilled inside Nero, letting the boy milk him with slow and tight strokes. Vergil licks at the closing wound at Nero’s neck, sucking at the blood until the skin stitches itself closed. Lifting his mouth, he finds Nero’s golden eyes staring at him, half-lidded and lovingly. Vergil inclines to kiss him, though in this form their teeth cut tongues and lips. It’s still good. Warm. They swallow the mixture of their blood lazily.

Nero’s body starts to pull itself together. The boy lets his hands fall weakly to his sides. Vergil pulls his cock out, but keeps holding his son up, patiently waiting for his organs to reposition and regenerate within his body cavity. They both start to lose their demon traits as the post-coital healing drains them. Even Vergil feels sufficiently heady. It’s been a long while since he’d fed like that. And he’s never had a more delicious feast.

Nero makes a soft and satisfied noise as Vergil’s now-human hand strokes over his belly while his skin reforms. He licks into Vergil’s mouth with his normal tongue, still gathering the last drops of blood. They are still soaked in it, the drying gore creates cracks and peels on their skin.

Vergil stays silent, concentrating. He can’t sense the pulling of the veil anymore. No weakening. The scars that had existed now seem full, as if nothing had been amiss.

“Seems you are satisfied, for now.” Vergil smirks when he pulls away from Nero’s mouth.

Nero makes a disgusted noise, likely having reality settle back into his brain. 

“That was gross,” Nero complains tiredly, though he doesn’t pull away from Vergil’s body, “That was so sick and gross what the fuck-”

“I thought you were quite beautiful,” Vergil comments with a chuckle as Nero goes all tense.

“You’re such a freak, God,” Nero insults him, but Vergil knows better - Nero still carries the scent of lust upon him.

“As are you,” Vergil says, sliding a hand down the fresh skin of Nero’s belly to touch the boy’s fully erect cock.

“Fuck, I am…” Nero whines as his father strokes him while he sits on his lap.

“I will stay with you,” Vergil says quietly as he quickly brings his son to a quaking, ejaculating mess with the touch of his hand. “_Our sweet son _.”


End file.
